Frozen North
by Tynesider
Summary: In the frozen wilderness a yeti resists the relentless advance of Rhynocs, but with the arrival of a fellow survivor his luck is about to change. OneShot.


From the lone turret of his outpost Bentley could usually see for miles, but as he watched the blizzard from the safety of his shelter it was pretty clear that he'd be hard-pressed to see the horizon today. Frustrated, he tapped his club against the wall, firm enough to send chips of stone tumbling to the floor. He was tense, but he had every reason to be tense. He was under siege.

He seated himself down in the only chair, an unvarnished wooden furnishing with no cushions and a lattice backrest, and sat back. The criss-cross pattern aggravated his already sore skin even further, its splinters spearing his skin and stirring up fantasies of his old chair again. He looked up wistfully. What a comfy chair that was, or rather had been. Now, like everything else at his old home, it was waiting to be ransacked by Rhynocs.

He looked to the window again, the blizzard whiting out the scene. The world out there was teeming with Rhynocs, and while they were slow and dumb they were also merciless, which made them the ideal weapon for a power-hungry lunatic like the Sorceress. It was an unlikely team, but an effective one. One by one the lands fell, and with each conquered world the power the Sorceress had grew stronger. Now most of the known world belonged to her, but there were a few enclaves of rebellion and his outpost was one of them. The outpost belonged to him and his brother, not a gang of mentally-deficient soldiers and the obese lump that controlled them, and he was prepared to defend it with every last ounce of his strength, which was why he had set up camp in the turret. His former home was too exposed – an open gate here, a weak wall there, and it was also far too vast for two yetis to defend. If he had stayed there he would have been captured in no time. The turret, however, was much better. Tall; strong; windows front and back so he could see if Rhynocs were approaching from all angles, but what it had in strength it lacked in comfort. The turret had only three floors, all of which were too small for a yeti of his size to comfortably live in, and the only heating was a small fireplace that never burned bright enough. Normally he could live with these things; the turret was at least big enough for him to move around freely, and he had thick fur to keep him arm when the wind started to blow through the windows, but it was difficult to tolerate these discomforts on am empty stomach.

He felt his belly growl and rubbed it, watching the gesture with mournful eyes. When he'd abandoned the old outpost he'd packed as much food into a cart as he could manage, piling bread and cheese and fish higher and higher until the pile became unstable. That stash had sustained him ever since, but now he was beginning to run low. It wasn't that he hadn't thought it through – he'd rationed himself as well as sending his brother to a safer place in order to protect him and also to prevent him from having a drain on the food supply, but good planning didn't mean the food would last forever. He knew he'd have to go and get some more, but from where? Leaving the outpost was suicide so that only left his former home, but that was probably a centre of operations for the Rhynocs that he had seen patrolling the wilderness from time to time, and even if he did manage to find a source of food to pillage he didn't even have the cart to carry the supplies home in. It had been burned as firewood long ago, along with any chance of him sticking out the conflict until help arrived. He stood up and returned to the window. He was losing and he knew it. The outpost was practically lost already: Rhynocs were here, wandering around without fear of attack unless they came near the turret. Only six had been foolish enough to stray so close, and all six were currently lying in a pit under the snow, but it was a hollow victory. Six victories was impressive but it wasn't even a dent in the Rhynoc numbers. His only goal now was survival, to ensure the turret didn't fall into the Sorceress' chubby hands. He was only one yeti and couldn't stop an army's progress, but he could prevent them from scoring an outright victory against his beloved home.

He sighed and rested his chin on the window ledge, but it shot up again as he heard three bangs. He shot to his feet. What was that? He listened more intently as the banging restarted. Now he recognised the sound: the door. He stuck his head out into the blizzard again, looking for the surprise guest below, but the relentless snow rendered his eyesight useless.

"Hello?" he called, but his voice was lost in the gale. He pulled his head back inside and gulped. It was probably a Rhynoc – who else was there to call on him in this wasteland? But there was a doubt in his mind. A Rhynoc wouldn't afford him the respect of knocking, would they? They were too dumb to understand how to be polite. All they knew was how to bash doors in and capture the people behind them. What if it was an innocent person out there? He couldn't leave them out there, cold and alone and surrounded by an army. He had to answer the door, that was for certain, but as he made for the stairs he didn't hesitate in grabbing his club.

Another round of banging echoed around the turret as he descended the stairs. What should he do? Once he opened that door he would have a split second to react at best. If it was an innocent he ran the risk of clubbing them in his haste, but if it was a Rhynoc hesitation could mean the difference between living and having a round of musket fire through his chest. The banging grew in speed as he reached the bottom of the stairs, his heart matching the frantic beat of the visitor's knocks. He placed one trembling hand on the doorknob, the other priming its grip on the club for attack. He only had one chance to get this right, be it Rhynoc or innocent, and with fear heightening his senses he counted down.

"Three," he breathed, clutching the doorknob tighter, "Two...One..."

He threw the door open and raised his club, and the visitor screamed. Her cry paralysed Bentley's club arm, and it harmlessly dropped to his side seconds before he realised that there was no threat stood at his door. "Oh!" he exclaimed as he saw the visitor for the first time. Stood at his door was not a Rhynoc or even a snow-dwelling creature of any kind, but a kangaroo. A shivering kangaroo, with her body greatly compressed to fight the immense chill.

"He-hello," she said, her chattering teeth breaking up her speech, "I'm s-s-sorry to bother y-you but can I c-c-c-come in? It's just it's very, very cold out h-here."

Bentley blinked, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. A kangaroo? What was a kangaroo doing in the frozen north? It was only as another gale blew by did he realise that his question wasn't as important as the numb marsupial quaking on his doorstep.

"Oh! Yes! Come in!" he said quickly, ushering her inside as his cheeks tinted in embarrassment, "Sorry about threatening you with a club. Can't be too careful when there's Rhynocs about."

"It's okay," the kangaroo whispered, "I had to fight off a few on the way here so I understand."

"You fought them off? How many?"

"A good few," she said, breathing warm air on her hands and rubbing them together, "At one point I think it was ten-on-one."

"And you survived?" Bentley said, jaw dropping in amazement.

"Just about," she nodded, "But they scored a few points too." She pointed to her side and Bentley winced at the scabs dissecting her chocolate fur.

"Ouch."

"Yeah, they still sting a bit," she flexed her numb fingers, then suddenly looked Bentley in the eye. "I'm sorry, I never introduced myself, did I?" she laughed, "I'm Sheila. Thank you so much for letting me in, I'm so numb I was struggling to move out there."

"My name is Bentley, and it's my pleasure," Bentley smiled back, "I have a fireplace upstairs if you want to sit by it. It's not a very good fire but it's better than nothing."

"Thank you," Sheila smiled. She followed Bentley up the stairs to the top of the turret, and was relieved to hear the dull crackle of burning wood. The yeti grabbed the lone chair and moved it in front of the fireplace, gesturing for her to sit.

"Is that your chair?" she asked, a hint of reluctance in her voice.

"Yes, but you can sit in it if you want."

"It's okay, I'm happy to sit on the floor."

"Please don't feel as if you're being impolite, you can have the chair if you want it."

"It's okay."

"Are you sure?"

Sheila hopped over to the fireplace and sat down on stone.

"I'm sure."

Bentley watched Sheila hold her hands out to the flames, delight playing on her face as the warmth tackled her numbness. It was an uplifting sight, but it made him wonder.

"So what brings you to this area?" he asked, trying to make the question sound as casual as possible.

"Escape," Sheila said simply, "The Sorceress took control of my Alp not too long ago. I just about escaped but no one else did," her voice slipped into resentment, "I've been drifting for a while now, constantly being pushed onwards as the Rhynocs advance. This place is effectively the end of the line for me."

"What do you mean?"

"This is the north. The top of the map. A land of snow and ice, too desolate for most creatures to survive in. It's the final frontier for the Rhynocs, so after this where can I go?"

"Nowhere," Bentley nodded. Another cold wind blew in from the window, and he felt it full force. "I'm sorry I have to say this but this outpost is just about defeated too," he whispered, "Because it's so desolate I can hide from the Rhynocs, and this turret is pretty difficult for them to attack, but in the end I'm the one on the back foot. But I can't surrender to them, you know? This is my home and I won't lie down. They might think they're winning but as long as I'm alive, as long as I'm here and not in a prison somewhere, I'll fight them."

Sheila looked at him again, concern in her eyes.

"So the Sorceress now has control of everywhere?"

"Just about. Around here only this turret remains free, but I'm low on food and don't know where I can get supplies from. You're welcome to stay here as long as you like but don't be surprised if you end up going hungry."

Sheila's ears drooped.

"Oh...I'm so sorry. I don't need that much food and I have a very slow metabolism..."

"It's okay," Bentley grunted, "It was going to run out soon anyway. I suppose a few days less doesn't mean much."

"I'm happy to move on..."

"Do you have anywhere else to go?"

"Well, not yet..."

"Then I advise you stay. I'd rather you drained my supplies than went out there again."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm positive."

They sat in silence for a while, eyes locked on the dying flames. The only sound to be heard was the whistling wind roaring its way across the snowy plains, but as time ticked by the wind began to die, and as its venomous screech of intent faded away it drew the attention of the two huddled occupants of the turret.

"The wind's dying down," Bentley said, bounding over to the window. The horizon was visible again, and that meant any potential threats were wide out in the open, which meant he could smile again.

"Yeah," Sheila said, joining him to admire the view, "Does that mean we can go and look for food?"

"No point," Bentley mumbled, his mood crashing down again.

"There might be a lake or something..."

"There's no lakes out there, Sheila, and if there is it'll be buried beneath several feet of snow and ice."

"Well, what about hunting? I'm pretty sure I saw a rabbit while I was walking."

"I can't hunt, and I also don't feel good about abandoning the turret."

"Alright, I'll go on my own."

"Are you sure, there's Rhynocs..."

Sheila scoffed at his worry.

"Ten versus one, Bentley," she said, making for the stairs, "Ten versus one."

Bentley opened his mouth to protest, but she was out of the room before words could flow. He watched helplessly from the window as she hopped out into the snow, marching forward with a spring in her step.

"Be careful!" he shouted after her, but his warning went unnoticed.

He watched her until she disappeared over the horizon, and when she did he found himself at a loose end. What if she didn't come back? That would rest on his conscience for a very long time. What if she was hurt while out there? What if she broke a leg? She would be stuck out there, alone and at the mercy of the Rhynocs...

"Stop!" he shouted to himself, "She'll be fine! She fought off ten Rhynocs!"

He stomped back over to the fire and sat down, but as he glanced upon the empty space of floor she had once occupied he felt his unease return. He shook his head violently. Why did he care? He had only met her two hours ago. Who cared if she got into trouble out there? She took up space in the already cramped turret and would end up eating his food. She was getting in the way of his survival. Yes, that was it. If she perished out there it would be a blessing...

"What am I thinking?!" he shouted to himself, leaping to his feet. It was a fair question, what was he thinking? He didn't want her to get hurt – wishing harm upon people was something he would never do, not least to those like her. She had been so apologetic from the moment of her arrival, unwilling to accept anything for fear of looking greedy, and now she was willing to go out there, into a wilderness filled with Rhynocs, and find food. Not just for her, but for the two of them. He returned to the window and looked out. Still no kangaroo, only kangaroo footprints in the snow. No, he didn't want her to get stuck out there, he wanted her to return. She was too kind and selfless to wish ill health upon. In fact, now that he thought about it, she was much more than kind and selfless...

He dragged the chair over to the window and sat down, facing the outpost. Without looking he grabbed his club and rested it across his lap. She would return, and that was absolutely certain. If she wasn't back by sundown he would go out and look for her. She was far too good to be condemned, and he would rather go without food for a while than let her freeze in the name of filling his stomach. He blinked and focused all his attention on the snow outside, twiddling his thumbs as the nerves jangled in his stomach.

* * *

He sensed trouble when he saw the copper blot on the landscape.

As soon as it appeared Bentley was on his feet. From a distance it looked like it could be Sheila, but as the blot came closer it grew wider and its colour became lighter. His heart leapt to his mouth. It wasn't Sheila. Sheila's fur was a chocolate colour, not a light copper. She also wasn't that wide. He watched helplessly as the blot grew wider and wider until it snapped, creating ten smaller but more detailed stains in the snow. There were another ten behind the row and another ten behind them, the pattern continuing all the way up to the horizon, and though Bentley couldn't make out details he knew exactly what it was: a Rhynoc Army.

He shot down the stairs, taking them three at a time at a speed never before attempted on spiral stairs, and locked the door, shoving an empty crate against it in the hope of making it sturdier. He made his way back to the top and returned to the window, and his muscles locked in fright. The army had completed its advance and were now stood outside his door, but what horrified Bentley was its size. Rows upon rows of Rhynocs, spread out along the base of the tower. At least a thousand soldiers but probably more, all stood within ten metres of his measly turret. He stood deathly still as one soldier strode forward, positioning himself under the window, and withdrew a scroll.

"Attention!" the Rhynoc soldier announced in the slow, dumb voice typical of the species, "By decree of the Sorceress you are ordered to...Captain, what does this word say?"

Another Rhynoc, clearly irate, strode forward and read the scroll before mumbling in the other's ear.

"Ah!" the soldier said happily, "You are ordered to surrender yourself and your premises to any Rhynoc who demands it. Failure to comply with this rule results in death."

The Rhynoc smiled up at him, satisfied that he would comply, but Bentley was no conformist, which was why a flaming log from the fire fell from the window and struck the Rhynoc clean on the head.

The Rhynoc Army stood still for a moment, watching a trickle of blood from their comrade's head spill from the snow, then the Captain barked an order.

"Draw!"

The army drew their spears, a ripple tearing through the ranks as their weapons pointed at the window. Bentley's hands quivered but he stood his ground, and continued to do so as the Captain approached.

"I thought you'd do that," she said, leering up at him, "Which was why I sent that poor fellow to read the decree."

"That's despicable."

"Says the man who threw the burning log," she sneered, "Anyway, since you disobeyed the decree that counts as an act of war, which means I am now allowed to send my army in and destroy this last pocket of resistance. However, I'm feeling generous today, so I'm going to give you another opportunity to surrender, but this time there's an added incentive."

The Captain waved her arm and the army parted, allowing a small wagon to be pulled forward. Bentley squinted and saw a cage perched atop its wooden wheels, and as it journeyed closer to the turret he identified its contents, and screamed.

"Sheila!"

"Sheila indeed," the Captain grinned.

"Let her go!"

"No can do, I'm afraid. She's attack and injured a group of my soldiers, which counts as assault and is punishable by law."

Bentley paused, grinding his teeth together in fury. He looked back down to the cart and saw Sheila, eyes more apologetic than ever, staring back at him.

_I'm so sorry,_ she mouthed. Bentley only nodded in reply.

"Now then," the Captain continued, "This rogue is going to prison regardless of what happens here, but if you choose not to surrender I can arrange some special treatment for her."

"What kind of special treatment?"

"Well, I dare say she can be subjected to a more physical form of punishment than others..."

"That's illegal!"

"The Sorceress is the law; she says it is legal, therefore it is. The choice is yours: surrender and you get equal treatment, or fight and maker her suffer. Choose."

Bentley gripped the window ledge tightly. He wanted to fight even though he knew doing such a thing was hopeless, but Sheila...He sighed. Holding his hands up wasn't what he wanted to do, but letting someone else get hurt in the name of fulfilling his selfish desires was something that would scar him more than laying down his arms. He leaned out of window again to speak, but as his eyes passed the cage he paused. Sheila was waving his arms at him, desperately seeking his attention, and once she saw that she had it she bumped her fists together, frowning her eyes in aggression. Bentley needed no further encouragement. He left the window and grabbed his club, spinning it in his hands to find the ideal grip, the grip with which he could do the most damage, and as he made his way down the stairs he practised swings that would shatter Rhynoc skull. The battle was futile; several thousand versus one, but that didn't matter. This fight wasn't about winning, it was about pride. He was going to lose, that was certain, but that didn't mean he was going to fizzle out.

He reached the bottom of the stairs and moved the crate aside. A flimsy wooden door, the only thing between him and certain doom, and as he pulled it open and stepped out into the snow he felt the playing field tip heavily in the army's favour.

"Well?" the Captain said, watching him stomp towards her. "What is your decision?"

Bentley continued advancing, stepping to within half a metre of the Captain, and raised his hands as if he was surrendering. "Surrender?" the Captain smirked, "Good choice."

"Oh no, this isn't surrender. I'm merely flexing my arms," and with that, he swung his club and shattered the Captain's skull.

Once the army pounced the result was inevitable, but Bentley fought anyway. He fought until the Rhynocs finally restrained him and loaded him into the cage along with Sheila, but he didn't care. He didn't care as Sheila whispered another apology and he didn't care as the army jeered at his failure, for his eyes were locked on the dozens of fallen bodies littering the ground, their spilled blood dying the snow of the frozen north an unholy red.

* * *

**At last, a new story. :D**

It's getting to the stage now where I'm running out of in-game inspiration. This doesn't really link in with the series as much as my older stuff does, but I still like it.

The key idea for this story comes from the title, which was inspired by, and is thus dedicated to, my beloved homeland of Northeast England. As it's so bloody cold all the time. XD

**Reviews are, as always, appreciated. :)  
**


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